Friday, March 4, 2016

Cradle to Cross...Wood & Nails

Until Resurrection Sunday


His splintered hands sand silky smooth
every ding and bump and groove;

then Joseph measures every piece—
hammers nail-heads with expertise.

He's built fine cradles, but this one
is extra-special. It's for God’s Son.

He moves Babe Jesus from the trough
to the cradle, cushioned and soft.

The manger scene, quaint and lowly
now more befits One Who's holy.

Joseph, years hence will reap a thrill—
he'll teach the  boy carpentry skills.

Shoved on crossbeams, Jesus' body.
Crude wood. Workmanship is shoddy.

Men grab His wrists. They pound the nails.
They watch Him wince; His color pales.

They lift the Cross; taunt till He dies.
The air is pierced by women's cries.

The sky grows dark. The dry earth quakes.
O hear the hissing of the Snake…


Holy of Holies veil is torn—
Sin is atoned! Salvation born!

God's Master Plan, now understood—
began and ends with nails and wood.

Maude Carolan

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